Teen Titans one shots

Jailbird

They don't visit. None of them do. 

Ironic. When they think you're jumping through the hoops of recovery, they use any excuse to stop by. Your road to wellness must be crystal-clear, a straight line with no rests or relapses. Because if you're not healing the 'right way', you're not healing at all. 

The bars are beginning to feel like home. It's paradise. Not because of the two-bunk cell and soiled toilet, because when he closes his eyes he doesn't see Joker's face anymore. 

I ended it. 

And I'm...

Happy?

"Todd." The buoy-shaped cop thumbs donut remnants from his stubble. "You have a visitor." 

When is the warden most pissed? Here's a hint: when he sounds like Damian Wayne on a bad day. 

"That's a relief. I was getting tired of looking over my shoulder in the shower." He stretched every limb, from the tip to the toe of the neon orange jumpsuit. 

"Watch your mouth, smart-ass. You might be getting special treatment because of your connection to the Waynes, but two pots to piss in is no better than one." He spits at Jason's feet. Charming. 

"Come on in, little lady." He punches in the code for the outer block. The lock whooshes open, revealing mamas and baby mamas alike in the waiting room. 

He knows who it is the moment he doesn't hear feet touching the ground. 

"If you ever want someone better, call me." Mr. Watchman attempts a too-long, too-forced cringy wink and hobbles out. 

Silence. This is surprising. Usually, she'd be roasting his ear off, proclaiming that "Someone 'better' would be able to examine his feet" in her formal yet effective grammar. 

She unwraps the crunchy tinfoil off the package in her hands. A vat of steaming lasagna swirls into his nostrils. It wouldn't taste good anymore if he ate it. His bled gums would turn the gooey warmth into an acid tide. 

Starfire shoves the plastic tin between the dividend. "Eat." 

"Not hungry." It smells like color. It would be torture to return to black and white after it. 

"If this is a matter of dignity, you have nothing left to prove." She sees right through him. 

Just like always.

 Bruised knuckles. Dilated pupils. Snapped teeth strewed across the floor. Starfire seeing his 'justice from the inside' hollowed out his outside. 

 "And I doubt the ladies of lunch serve you any better here. Eat." She curveballs Jason a fork. It's plastic, a precaution so he won't use it to stab anyone. 

He takes a bite. His rotten fangs go slack. They're not used to chewing, much less swallowing. He gulps it down and bites the inside of his cheek simultaneously so the pain balances. 

"Now." The pang of disappointment in her voice makes his cheekbones ache like a broken rib. "Why?"

"Funny. No one else has asked." He traces patterns into the red sauce. "He told a joke. I sent him off to hell. What more do you need to know?" 

"Talking things out helps, friend. And as it turns out, I happen to be a pretty good listener." 

Fuck. Quoting my own words against me. She must've read the witnesses' transcript. 

"Don't." His brain betrays him. Joker is stirring the cream into his coffee. 

"It's just not the same, without Bats."